Old Friend

After months of quarantine,
heavy heartache and quiet,
the world sucking up
all the air in the house,
I sit down and try to write again.

Outside the door
imagination begs
let me in, let me in.
Of all the loves in my life
I may have loved her longest
and best but all loves change
under the influence of absence.
Intimacy grows into a stranger,
estrangement into kin.

Now she’s out and about
behind her mask but I’m still
in lockdown. I stay
on the surface of words,
keeping my distance,
afraid of turning
the key to admit her.
How to be touched?

I pray she finds
a way to open me,
comes tripping in,
old friend shining through
the skin of what’s new,
and of all that’s been lost
and broken, too.

Play Notes: I've found the pandemic a very difficult time to write sustained projects, like a novel. But I've been drawn to writing poetry. So grateful for the visits of my muse! Perhaps you could write a poem that personifies your muse (or imagination) in some way and describes your efforts to connect with it.